Across the Field
by Demonic Angel Clone
Summary: ...you sorta look over your shoulder, and there she is, holding onto her locker door mid-open. She's staring at the scene every once in a while obviously upset, but then her emboldened green eyes turn to yours... Amy & Jack
1. Your Friendly Neighborhood QB

_**A**_**cross the **_**F**_**ield**

* * *

"_Keep scoring, Quarterback. It'll take a lot more than a touchdown to get with me."_

* * *

You're the big man on campus, so you're told.

Football Captain with a religion behind you and the looks that could get you any girl in school. So you're told.

Any girl, that is, except her. Not Grace Bowman who protects herself with a virginal force field or Adrian Lee who shrinks away at the sound of church bells. If anything, this girl was the perfect mix of innocence and sensuality –at least enough to have fun with. She wasn't a bouncy blonde or a sinful brunette or even a typical redhead, but she has this long russet brown hair that trails down her back and you find out she's in Band. You've never dated a girl in Band before.

Oh yeah, and one more thing: she happened to lug around a baby bump her freshman year.

But that's not important right now. She just told you off in the hallway, in front of the entire school, and when the real issue came out, you fired back, and so did she. You hold your stinging red cheek and your gaze on her retreating backside, and your team's on the side, laughing their asses off because dude, you just let a chick from the Band own you in front of the entire school. And not just any chick from Band. That chick from Band with a kid.

But that's not what's important right now. What's important is looking for her and setting her straight because the truth of the matter is that you'll wait.

You'll definitely wait for her.

* * *

You don't really know a thing about Band music, at all. All you know is that the Band –that's bigger than the football team- comes out at every game and plays as if their lives depended on it. You know one thing for sure, they take it very seriously and they are one of the best in State so you get kinda prideful about them as well. You're not a part of the Band, but when you play, and then they play, you feel like a part of something bigger, so, there's that.

Their music is loud and booming, reaching the top and beyond of the bleachers and you suddenly feel pumped up.

Halftime's over, and when you get back on the field, something feels different, like the Band left something after the final note is played. The game gets close, real close, but you lose 36 to 37. It's a tough loss because it's one of the season opener games, but you're not fazed. You'll reach top four, and then who knows, maybe even the championship.

So you take the loss, head held high because you're team captain. Even if your team's heads are low and set on the ground, it's you who has to set the example. At least, that's what Coach tells you after every practice. You take your helmet off, wipe the sweat off your brow, and clap your leading running back on his shoulder; good game team. You loss, but it was a good one.

You head out of the locker room, letterman jacket slung over your shoulder, and as you head towards the double doors, you hear that familiar blaring horn again. It's strange, you know, 'cause the game's over, and yet there it is, loud and demanding. You take a detour and go down the long strip of hallway in the other direction, approaching the evanescent melody, until you're right there at the door and you hear shuffling inside, like someone's putting away their instrument, or something. You chuckle under your breath, maybe it's a bandgeek and you could give 'em a lighthearted scare, for kicks. Nothing too bad, just for fun.

So you bang on the door gruffly and rush into the instrument storage room, and you're shocked when you see big mahogany green eyes staring right back at you. Your mouth falls open, and you kinda feel like an ass. She was spooked, all right. Enough to drop her instrument case on the ground, and make a picture of her and her son slide across the floor at your feet. You bend over and pick it up and you stare at it for a long moment, John's gotten bigger since you've last seen him. His mother looks cute, too, all big smile and bright eyes, so your lips sorta curve upwards a bit.

"Excuse me?" You hear her say, and you look up and she's brushing her bangs back, eyes gesturing towards the picture in your hands. She still all dressed up in her official Lancers band uniform and you rake your hand through the back of your hair and chuckle sheepishly before handing it over. So, now you're a jerk and a creeper; _greeeat_.

"Uh, listen Amy, I'm sorry about that, I didn't mean to scare you." Or stare at your picture like a complete dope. "I was just-"

"You were just thinking that you could scare some bandgeek, right?" Amy asks rhetorically, eyebrow lifted indignantly and arms crossed, looking every bit of the mother she was. "Typical."

Whoa, back up. "Typical?"

"Yes. As in, what usually happens or something that's expected or-"

"No, I know what 'typical' means. What I don't understand is why you're saying that about me." You crane your head and her green eyes narrow ever so slightly. You didn't know how fiery she was before, she always had this stigma of just being a teenage mother. You did hear that she went off on Coach, but you never would've expected her to get like this; you kinda like it.

"Because you're just a-" She cuts herself up, stand up straight, and takes hold of her instrument case handle. She walks towards the door, but then snaps back at you, hair whipping over her shoulder. She smells sweet and you didn't realize how tall she was compared to you, she's nearly level. "Did you know that Michael Rykerson was hazed by the football players last night?"

You think back; you do recall something after practice yesterday. Oh, yeah, they were gonna haze this guy, asked if you wanted in. "Who is he?"

"He's a part of the brass section, one of our best tuba players, and he didn't come to school or to the game tonight. Did you know about it?" She asks again.

"I…I knew." You say, and her face turns into one of disgust as she tries to rush past you, but you hold her by her shoulder, "But I didn't know who was going to be hazed, I swear."

"You still knew that it was going to happen; I bet you even knew that it was going to be someone from Band. You're the football captain, you could've stopped it." She stares at you glaringly, for one last moment, before moving past you and out the door. You stand there a second longer, taking in the words she just said, before going after her retreating figure.

"Hey, look, I'm sorry that your friend got ambushed by the team, but I wasn't behind that and for the record, I didn't know it was someone from the Band." You say, walking beside her. "I actually like the Band." She scoffs and rolls her eyes at this admission. "No, seriously, I do."

She stops and you step in front of her, "Amy, I'm sorry." You say sincerely, and her eyes flicker to yours before sighing.

"Fine, just…keep your team in line and we'll call it even." Her eyes soften a bit, and yeah, you won her over.

"Sure, no problem," You sigh. "How's John, I haven't really seen him in a while."

Amy smiles, and it's not brilliantly huge like Grace's or peppy like Madison's or even seductive like Adrian's or Shawna's. It's like nothing in those categories; it's just _real._ You haven't experienced real in a while. "He's good, he's pretty much walking now."

"Yeah," You say knowingly. "He looks a lot like you."

She cranes her head to the side and does this –adorable? Sexy?- thing with her lips where she bites the side of her lower one before letting out a laugh, like she's trying to fight off a smile, only she's failing at it. You're almost wondering if there's some inside joke she's thinking of right now. "I, um…Everyone says he looks like a mix between me and Ricky; you're the first to say that he really looks like me, so, thanks."

You grin, "Well, it's true, Amy. At least, by the picture it is. Maybe- maybe I could see you with him, sometime. You know, just to make sure."

She holds her instrument case in front of her with both hands, eyes narrowed curiously, "Are you asking me out on a date with my son?"

"What? No, of course not…" You shake your head, feeling a bit foolish. "But uh, if I _were _to ask you out on a date, you know, I'd hope your son would be there because I know you're a package deal; I wouldn't just be dating you, I'd be involved with you and your son."

"And Ricky." Amy says with a slight smirk.

"Definitely not Ricky," You shake your head. "He's John father, and we're cool, he's a nice guy-" Amy scoffs at that, "But if we were to go out, not saying that we would or anything, but if we were, I know that your son's a big part of your life, I'd want him to be okay with it."

Amy chuckles, "He's a one-year-old, I'm sure he'd like you if you brought him a ball or something."

You nod, "Yeah, but…I get it. When my dad died, I got really protective of my mother and who she decided to date, and I didn't want to see just any guy come into her life, and I don't think I could do that to anyone else." You say, thinking about it a little more, of how you felt when your mother said that she met a guy from therapy, and that he was coming over to the house the next day; it was just a few months after your father died.

"That's…really sweet, Jack, but I think he would be okay with you, if we were to go out. And if we were to go out, it would be a while before I let you around John." Amy says slowly, but firmly.

You nod your head, "I can respect that, definitely. In fact, it should be like that." Amy smiles a bit wider after you say that, maybe not expecting you, or anyone else, to think the way she thinks.

"I'm not looking for a boyfriend right now," She says suddenly. You smile.

"Good."

"Why's that good?"

You grin again, "It leaves the playing field open." You turn around to walk away with your hands in your pockets and you're halfway down the hall when she yells that she's not a football game, Jack Pappas.

"I know, you're in the Band, right?" You yell back with a smirk and you see her shake her head with a smile before you exit through the double doors.

* * *

Yes, I wrote it, I actually wrote _Slap Jack_! And for those who don't know, _Slap Jack_ is the made up fandom name for Jack and Amy, who haven't hooked up, yet –but it's inevitable, _everyone _hooks up on **_this _**show. I was inspired by _You Belong With Me _by Taylor Swift and _All the Right Moves _with Tom Cruise, who is a football player who falls for a girl in band, sounds familiar? And yes, I _lovelovelove_ my crack pairings, so I had to do it.

Expect more soon! xD

DAC


	2. Bandgeeks vs Jock Gods

_**A**_**cross the **_**F**_**ield**

* * *

_"I'm a bandgeek, you're a jock God; what could we possibly have in common?"_

* * *

You catch a good night's sleep and get yourself looking fresh and clean the next day; whether you like it or not, you gotta rep and stand behind your team, win or lose. You're also expecting Coach to bust your chops at practice today, so you mentally prepare for that.

You head downstairs, and it's not like you're not expecting this, but your mom's waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs, hands on her waist.

"So, you got in kinda late last night," She remarks and you take a deep breath.

"Yeah, I got held up," You admit, heading into the kitchen and opening the fridge.

"By?" She asks, and you reach in, grabbing the carton of orange juice.

So, what do you say? _Well, there's this girl I'm kinda-maybe interested in and she's in Band and she's got a one-year-old...Yeah, that pregnant girl I told you about last year? That's her._

"You know, traffic and stuff," You shrug indifferently. You tell your mom basically everything, but you wanna keep this to yourself for a while; nothing's set in stone. She's still not looking for a boyfriend, and you still haven't asked her out. Yet.

"Traffic at midnight?" Her brow arches. "Seriously?"

"And stuff, you can't forget the stuff mom." You insist, pouring yourself a quick glass. Normally, you'd just chug from the carton but your mom's here so you forgo that plan. She gives you that motherly 'You really expect me to believe that' look and you sigh. "I should've called." Then she smiles. Was it really that simple?

"Well, as long as the 'stuff' wasn't taking some poor girl's viginity-"

"Mom!"

"-Or drinking and driving, we're fine. Just remember to call if you're going to be out a little later than expected because I get worried." Her brow creases in concern, "And I mean it when I say 'a _little _late', okay?"

You take a long swig of your juice and nod, "Got it." You set the empty glass on the counter and you give your mom a kiss on the cheek before you're out the door.

* * *

The minute you step through the doors at school, you're expecting a 'Good game, Jack.' It's not that you're being concieted or that you relish the attention -you really don't- but it's just what always happens. All things considered, even though you lost, it was a really good, close game -you gotta remember to tell the defense line to tighten up at next practice.

You walk through the hall, nod in acknowledgement to a few who bob their heads toward you and by the time you get to your locker, you notice two things. One before the other, at least.

One, a few of your teammates are surrounded by this kid's locker -he looks kinda awkward and scragly- and you wouldn't have thought anything of it at first, but the look on the kid's face was pinched and uncomfortable, like he wished he was anywhere than where he was at that moment.

The second thing is less distinct. You know that feeling you get when you know that someone's staring at you? You don't see them, but you can just _feel _a tingle crawl up your spine because they're paying that much attention to you? Well, you sorta look over your shoulder, and there she is, holding onto her locker door mid-open. She's staring at the scene every once in a while obviously upset, but then her emboldened green eyes turn to yours and you make fore.

_"Keep your team in line and we'll call it even." _That's what she said, right? Well, now it's time to own up because she's crossing her arms and raising a brow in indignation at you. Damn.

You walk over, all donned out in your letterman's jacket, and the kid, Michael, you think his name was, turns to you and looks like he's about to crap himself.

"Hey, what's going on here?" You ask casually, hands in your pockets. Your teammates aren't that much smarter than you; if anything, you're one of the smartest on the team, if that means anything. They give you the '_WTF_' face, as in, '_what the fuck are you doing here, cap? You never do anthing fun with us_!' You know, except the occasional party every now and again. It's true though, you're not that into partying anymore and it's senior year so if you don't shape up by now, you never will.

Immediately, they start smiling and giving you pats on the back and sneak all-too-knowing glances at another. "Nothin'," Your lead linebacker says, "We were just telling our resident bandgeeks that the field is ours," His expression darkens as he looks back at Michael. "All ours."

You cross your thick arms, raising your chin, "Really?"

Michael's eyes dart from each player surrounding him, and just when you think the kid may faint or something, he actually says something. "How can the field be yours, when people come to watch _us _at the games?"

The nearby players all look at him, as well as a few others in the hall. He didn't exactly whisper this, either. It's kinda brave to call out the team by yourself -or was it stupid? There's a fine line, you know that. It gets really quiet and all eyes are on this awkward tuba player, who looks like he wants the Earth to swallow him right about now. That is, until she comes over.

"He's right, you know?" Amy saunters over, head craned and arms crossed. You don't know how you've never noticed this_...fire _beneath this girl's eyes; it's daunting and amazing all at the same time and you wonder if it was always there. _"_I mean, you guys didn't even win last night and Homecoming's in two weeks and _everyone _knows _that _game's rigged."

There are snickers heard in the crowd and out of the corner of your eye, you see a few of the bandkids, including Ricky, behind Amy.

"There _are _no rigged games, Mama Mia." Steve, one of the jerky running back's on the team steps closer to Amy, brow creased. She raises her chin and you step closer to her side, ready to step in front of her if needed. You notice the bandkids move closer as well and it's making a scene because everyone's looking at the mob of jocks and bandgeeks. It's a school wide fact that there's always been some tension between the football team and the Band. You think it's all starting to boil over.

Amy's brow raises, and she smirks. "Mama Mia? _Really?_" She looks him up and down with replusion, "I'd rather be that than some _stupid_, little football player."

Ouch. You definitely felt that one.

"Listen _Juno, _you can pull that adult crap to your kid at home, but here you're just a bandgeek that got knocked up-"

"Enough," You hear youself say firmly.

Ricky walks over to stand beside Amy, chin jutted out, "What'd you just say?"

Steve chortles, "And speaking of knocked up..."

"How about I knock _you _out, if you don't shut it?"

Everyone gets quiet; no whispers, no nothing. You think it's 'cause everyone expected Ricky to say that, maybe you think he should've said it too. But you're the one everyone's staring at, and you're the one glaring at Steve. You're not a fighter by nature, you don't just go throwing your weight around if a confrontation breaks out, but things were getting way out of hand on your team's end. Just to save face though, you add, "Coach is coming this way, and you don't wanna be benched next game, do you?"

A few of your teammates look down the hallway, and sure enough, Coach is outside of his office, looking curiously at the display of students. Your team looks back, meancingly at the bandkids, and betrayed by you. Steve stares at you long and hard while he passes before saying, "See you at practice, _el capitan_." You're not dumb; they're gonna tear you up at practice today. You're not even sure if it's worth it yet.

Soon, the crowd disperses and it's just you, Amy, and Ricky standing in place. Amy's staring at you oddly and you want to say something but Ricky cuts off your thought. "What was that about?" Ricky asks.

"What?" You shrug.

"'Knock you out'?" Ricky mocks in disbelief, "You couldn't hurt a fly if it landed on a cross."

Gee, thanks. But for the record, you _could _hurt a fly. But if it landed on a cross, it might be considered holy, or something, so you're not sure about that. "Yeah, well...He was wrong and someone had to shut him up."

Ricky rolls his eyes, but nods, "Listen, late bell's about to ring, I'm gonna head to class. See ya."

You nod back coolly and Ricky heads down the other end of the hall, leaving you alone with Amy. You don't know why, but you get this sinking feeling that he did that on purpose. Jerk.

"So, you're playing martyr again?" Amy snips, looking you in the eye.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She waits a moment before asking, brushing her bangs from her face, "Why'd you defend the bandgeeks? I thought you wanted to scare uslast night."

"Don't you mean, 'why'd I defend _you_'?"

She bows her head down slightly and shakes her head. Then she bites the side of her pink lower lip again -you notice that she does that a lot- and sighes. "Am I supposed to be flattered?"

You lean forward, "A thank you would be pretty nice."

She brushes her chestnut bangs back again, that seem to fall in her face every five to ten seconds, "Thank you." She purses her lips and readjusts her tote bag strap.

"So, 'stupid little football player'?" You ask, and she averts her gaze from yours. You guess she's embarassed, or something. "I mean, I'm not offended or anything since I'm not stupid _or _little, but..."

She lets out a sheepish laugh. It's kinda cute because she has a really sweet smile. "I was just caught up in the heat of the moment. And...I dunno, I guess I've always had something against the athletics department at school; next year, they're going to remodel the stadium and the Band's getting major budget cuts."

Whoa. Budget cuts? You know the economy's bad, but you didn't think of it extending that far. "I'm sorry," You say earnestly. That's not even close to being fair.

"I think that when I found out that the team hazed Michael, I just...It's not fair." Amy states, and her chestnut-green eyes are a little shiny but you know that's not because she wants to cry or anything. At least, you hope that's not the reason. Your exprience with crying girls has never been that good since they usually push you away.

"You're right -but that's going to change; I'm going to make sure of it," You say with a nod, and you mean it too.

"It doesn't look good for you to oppose your team," Amy says with a small shake of her head. "Why do it? All it's going to do is provoke them."

"It's not right, Amy," You say, stepping closer to her. "And maybe if I provoke 'em, they'll focus more on me and less on you guys."

"You don't really believe that, do you?" She asks and you shrug, hands falling into your jacket pockets.

"I'm hoping for it." You smile assuringly, "I'll see you later."

"I'm still not looking for a boyfriend," She answers.

You back away, nodding, "You may change your mind."

"I won't." Amy refutes, and you can't help but think that she cute when she opposes something.

"You could, though." You say in a sing-song way.

"Nope," She shakes her head, straight hair swaying. "I'm not that type of girl."

"And what type of girl is that?"

"The type that changes her mind."

You grin, you've dealt with these types before but Amy may actually be different. so much that now, you're intrigued into trying. "We'll see," You smirk, making your way down the hall to class.

* * *

Okay guys, first off, I just want to thank everyone who's reviewed. And when I say everyone, that includes the flamer(s). Without **fuckyou **and **omg, **I may've not been so eager to continue this! So _please_, give this lovely reviewers a round of applause. :D

meghann: (Just so you know, I'm writing your name like this because ff always seems to cut it off) Thank you so much. Really, your review made me smile so widely and I appreciate the thoughts of a fellow writer. And I mean a _fellow writer. _Keep writing, your stories are always creative, and awesome, and they have a distinctive spark, and I hope that you let people in your real life know that as well.

Victoria: I respect you very, very much. Thank you for telling me that even though this isn't your ideal ship, that you still gave this a chance, and looked at the writing as something to enjoy.

NEDlovesyouu: Ha! Yes! Glad to have you on board with the ship :D

Mfoto: Thanks! your reviews are always so cute!

butterfly01: I'm glad you think so; I began rooting for Jack, too! :)

Dance Alice Dance: ILY. Like, seriously, you have to be my crack pairing sister because you're always down with any and every ship. I'm glad you liked the 2nd POV, I was kinda nervous about it myself, but I think I'm liking it.

Princess Pinky: AKA awesomeness all wrapped around in epic. I loved your review! It was so funny and whirled around and your voice! Oh God, _"But then, look at you. Just when you think, "How could this possibly end up being an Amy/Jack story after all this BS?""_ I died. I'm so happy that you gave this a chance! And the fact that you _liked _it was just win! And BTW, I heart the word 'creeper'. It's one of my favorite words, right under 'ominous'. ;) Oh, and the pic on my profile, is me, lol.

And now...for the **haters**: You have a right to your opinion. _I have a right to mine. _You like Ramy. _I like "Jamy". _You couldn't write to save your life. _I write epics. _You can't punctuate or spell. _I'm a **mixed **fanfic author that can do both. I'm right. _**You're wrong. **_I'm big. _**You're small. **And so on and so forth~ But I thank you. Whenever you see an update, _just know that you were responsible. _Oh, and my bombass, lovely reviewers. :D I'm not going to curse, or have a long indignate rant, or say 'don't like, don't read'. _I have class. _**Word**. Just keep your grudges **off **my reviews page. It's not pretty or cute, it just makes **you look pathetic.**

Expect an update soon, I'm on a roll! xD More bandgeek vs. jock drama and an away game that leads to something more.

DAC


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